


Hogwarts, Not Thornfield

by TeaWithMeAtThree



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Jane Eyre (2006), Jane Eyre (2011), Jane Eyre - All Media Types, Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Jane Eyre Fusion, Battle of Hogwarts, Battle of Hogwarts AU, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, POV Hermione Granger, Stereotypes, Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaWithMeAtThree/pseuds/TeaWithMeAtThree
Summary: "Please, don't make me admit it." In a careful parallel to Jane Eyre, a partnership of hope and hostility forms between Draco and Hermione. Yet with what consequences?





	1. No Chance of a Walk

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Jane Eyre, so all rights to JK. Rowling and Charlotte Brontë, those brilliant people.

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. Rain fell in streaks to the ground and Hermione watched from her window as it went down over the Gryffindor tower. In such sombre conditions she found comfort in her favourite place in the school: the library.

It was an extensive room - Ron had named it a "maze of boredom" - but to her it was a labyrinth with a wealth of information and imagination. Hermione went straight to her favourite spot. Deep within the restricted section where it seemed only her footsteps ever unsettled the dust. Weave round the bookcases and you come to a little corner by a tall thin window. "Incendio," she whispered, lighting the fireplace beside her. She was thankful of her magic - although striking a match provided novel joy, actually getting a fire to light was an arduous task she had never enjoyed at home. Now she could settle down into the azure cushions of the armchair with ' _Bewick's History of Birds'._

It was here she returned to the girl of London who would wait at the dentists, book in hand, for her parents to finish work. Frizzy hair battled down by an alice band but providing little restraint. The discovery of hair products 8 years later was a welcome revelation, and one she had thanked Lavender for greatly.

As she read Hermione became immersed in the pictures. When she was younger she would tap them and watch as trees rustled and listen for a bird faintly tweeting. Her parents didn't believe her stories of ' _the images that come to life_ ' until they heard a ferocious roar come from Hermione's book when she read ' _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ '. She had been perched on the sofa in the living room, _The Weakest Link_ mumbling in the background, though Hermione was focused on the voice of CS Lewis rather than Anne Robinson. She engaged with the image of Aslan and her parents both turned and stared at the girl glowing with pride sat beside them, blatantly confused as to where the noise had come from. Within months they realised the supernatural was not a myth, and their daughter was even more magical than they already considered her.

All of this reminded her of home. At boarding school, home was sometimes a very personal thing. Whilst Ron was understandably open about his family, Hermione and Harry were far more reluctant in discussion. She was glad for the mutual appreciation of how private a muggle background is kept at Hogwarts. Hogwarts was a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry after all, and it felt wrong to be anything but. Introducing a topic of "Did you watch Black Adder over the Summer?" excluded Ron who would gaze cluelessly between them, so they generally avoided muggle subjects. However, if she ever felt homesick, the book she now read acted as a gentle reassurance that her parents were out there still, that she would see them soon.

* * *

 

Time slipped by and when she glanced at her watch Hermione realised how soon tea would be. On the way to the Great Hall she quickly popped to the bathroom, yet when trying to leave found the door jammed. "Alohamora" had no impact. She tried again with little avail.

"Hello?" she called, banging on the door. A giggle sounded from the corner of the room and Moaning Myrtle revealed herself.

"Oh dear," she mocked, gliding over.

"Who did this; Peeves?" Hermione questioned sternly. It was more of a rhetorical question though (of course it was Peeves.)

"Trapped in a red room are we?" wailed Myrtle with a smile, glancing at the burgundy walls and then to the blocked toilets with tissue paper and blood from younger years still struggling in dealing with their periods. Hermione provided a deadpan expression before returning her efforts to opening the door. As she tried a deep rumble sounded as a thunderstorm began, soon followed by a flash of light. It made Hermione jump and her heart rate picked up - thunderstorms scared her, and being trapped in a bathroom did not ease that fear.

"Please- just- open-" she grumbled, now shoving it with her side.

"Only a little bit of thunder" Myrtle mewed, floating down to Hermione's level.

She responded "I'm just-" but then let out a squeak as thunder and lightening returned in another round. She turned around and slammed backwards into the door. The whole room seemed to go even darker, mirroring the slate colour clouds blocking up the sky. Rain continued to patter against the windows, and each round of thunder and lightening further panicked Hermione. She needed to think of a way out.

"Oh what a dreadful noise!" complained Myrtle, glaring at Hermione as she continued to call out for help and try to open the door with different pronounciations of 'Alohomora'.

"I'm sorry," cried Hermione, pulse racing with fear yet beginning to subside in exasperation, allowing her thoughts to settle. "I just want to get out. And I don't want to destroy the door - it's school property, and very old - it's like an artefact even." she murmured. In a moment of peace she started running her fingers over the intricate patterns. Thunder suddenly crashed again, and she slammed her hand flat and pressed up against the ageing wood.

"Oh there's no hope! Why won't 'alohamora' work? I can't stay here, I can't." Hermione frantically tried to think of a spell that would cause minimal damage to the door. She stepped back from it and, eyes fixed on the look, spoke "Portaberto." The metal handle seemed to splinter away from the door, leaving a smoking hole in its place, and the door drifted open.

"I don't know," murmured Myrtle "...that spell."

"Before the unlocking charm, it was the most popular spell for opening locked doors. Bit messy, though there's no major damage to the door." Hermione commented, before leaving the bathroom as quickly as she could.


	2. Sunday Lunch

Smells of roast chicken and potatoes drifted down the corridor and Hermione hurried to the Great Hall, hoping she had not missed the main course. The room was full as chatter, thankfully blocking out any remaining sounds of thunder, though she believed it to have ironically stopped now she had got out of the toilets. It seemed they had only just started to eat - she was very thankful of that. The sight of her friends on the far end of the Gryffindor table calmed her immensely, and once she reached them the nerves from just previous had nearly all disappeared.

"Hi," she mentioned as she dropped down into a seat beside Harry. From across the table Ron replied, mouth full of food-

"'Mione! Where the hell you been - you coulda missed Sunday Lunch!" Harry reinforced this with an expectant gaze to her.

Reluctantly she responded "I got stuck in the bathroom."

"How'd you do that?" Harry laughed, stopping when he saw Hermione's expression.

"I don't know, but I couldn't get out. Alohomora wouldn't work and I could bear it in there much longer, the thunderstorm was so loud."

"Echoed off the walls I bet," inserted Neville before returning to his vegetables. Hermione began to scoop some parsnips onto her plate.

"Sorry - we'd of helped if we knew," comforted Ron.

"S'alright" she replied whilst pouring the gravy, "though I blasted the lock from the door, and am not looking forward to telling someone about that. They'd reduce points, no doubt, too."

"Just don't reveal it to Snape - anyone else will understand." replied Harry, and Hermione nodded with that realisation.

"So," she began, "did I miss anything important? Meal seems a bit late today."

"Oh we almost forgot," stumbled Ron, simultaneously revealing the mashed remains of potato in his mouth.

"Ron; Please," scolded Ginny from the other side of Harry, equally frustrated by his etiquette - or lack of - as Hermione. They shared a mutual glance over this habitual occurrence before returning to the conversation.

"It's Voldemort," admitted Harry. "Scrimgeour claims Hogwarts is no longer safe. The ministry is preparing for a battle and he wants us to too."

"What does that mean?" she slowly asked.

"Dumbledore said that timetables will change - new ones issued tommorow - and that the focus of our education will change 'radically'."

"What about our subjects though?" inquired Neville. Hermione finished her mouthful before stating the conclusion she had quickly reached.

"If Dumbledore's taking us all off timetable then it must be serious. This isn't some irrational decision, and it's most certainly a war strategy conjured by the ministry. Collectively Hogwarts is powerful, and they wanted to utilise that."

"I'm a bit of a target too," Harry chuckled, but his smile did not reach his eyes.

"Well, yes, you certainly have a history with Voldemort. And anyway, we're a localised, vulnerable group - the perfect victims. Strike us and it strikes wizards and parents across the nation. I've suspected it to happen for a while, and I guess it's now beginning. This really is happening. Oh, things are going to change now, aren't they." The group shared a sorrowful moment before returning to their plates. As Ron would say, food is an excellent remedy in these kinds of situation.


	3. Things Are Different

Preparations began almost immediately. The following morning Hermione informed McGonagall on the damage to the lock, for which she was not reprimanded; instead, she was congratulated on getting out of the mysteriously sealed room. They both shared the suspect of Peeves, but the Deputy Headmistress decided to let the simple prank go due to more pressing matters at hand.

Hermione went to breakfast to find her timetable in a pile at the end of her house table. Every student that entered found theirs then carefully read it as they walked to sit down. Hermione inspected hers over a mug of tea, careful to avoid getting crumbs from her croissant onto the document. ' _Defence against the Dark Arts_ ' featured heavily, whilst other subjects had vanished. She frowned - a term of preparation had passed, and she had hoped to complete examinations in her now missing subjects - though her time at Hogwarts was quickly teaching her that the likelihood of that was low. There was always a disruption of sorts (though everyone's favourite remaining that of the Weasley twins in fifth year.)

The new schedule began. Students were taught current political matters so aware of the situation, then began a regime of preperation for a fight. This preparation involved both the mind and body - however Hermione was far less successful in the latter. Due to the physical nature of activities, students were seperated by their sex, as was common for schools at the time, like in Muggle PE lessons. It resulted in Hermione seeing far less of the boys but far more of Ginny. She had a close friendship with the girl, but the split up of the trio caused her to feel increasingly lonely. On top of that, their timetables didn't correlate so she only got to see the boys a couple of times a week.

In that first month the atmosphere at Hogwarts changed. Some students left, evacuated by parents to somewhere they believed to be safe.

"We're fine. We've got Dumbledore - he's the greatest wizard of our time, only one Voldemort is scared of." Harry had remarked. There was truth in the statement, but with the increase in disappearances reported in the Daily Prophet, it was hard to feel safe anywhere. Meanwhile, there were losses felt within Hogwarts itself. Poignant in Hermione's memory was the night Lavender discovered her parents were missing.

Though the two had not been close due to their argument over Divination in their third year, their training together had allowed a friendship to develop. It was on a night a few weeks after the first announcement that Hermione had retired early to read in her dormitory. This was not unusual - the unusual event was that she soon had company. Hermione had been lying haphazardly across her bed, immersed in the world of Mr Dorian Grey. Then the had door flung open and Lavender had swept into the room, collapsing with a chorus of cries into her bed. Hermione had frozen - she knew how to comfort Harry and Ron, but had had little experience with situations like this, presented with a girl who she only knew a little. Placing the book down, she had stood and crossed to the source of the tears.

"Lavender?" she had asked gently, cautious that her presence would cause further upset. A few seconds passed before Lavender had quieted and turned to face Hermione. With a rush of hair being cast forward, she had sat up and gripped onto Hermione, allowing the sobs to resume, her frame shaking heavily.

Later that evening Lavender had divulged that her parents had gone missing. This confused Hermione, as Lavender's family were pureblood, yet disappearances were normally half-bloods or muggleborns. Unfortunately for Lavender, this trend did not continue to her. The display of emotion was so raw that it deeply impacted Hermione. It's reminded her of Harry's grief when he lost Sirius. She had remembered how Harry had been comforted in those desperate hours by the muggle beliefs of afterlife, with the thought that Sirius had gone somewhere safe and peaceful, even though he strongly opposed religion.

Hermione had whispered similar words to Lavender. "You will see them again. In the same region of happiness you will one day meet, I promise you." The power of these faithful words was incredible, and aided Hermione's understanding of the popularity of religion. A hope for a mighty universal Parent, one who loves you and you can love in return, and that upon death you return home to Him - it is an undeniable comfort.

* * *

Hermione became isolated. The new schedule of lessons was not agreeing with her. She stopped talking to her friends, tended to be alone in any free moments. Ginny tried to encourage her to spend time with her and the other girls but the absence of Harry and Ron caused Hermione to withdraw too far. Gradually Ginny reduced her efforts, feeling unable to aid her friend. The only times Hermione seemed to return from to herself were when the boys were around, but instances seemed reduced to barely three times a week. As sixth years the training programmes were incredibly demanding with few free periods. The desperation of the Ministry was evident in that. They demanded every child be fully prepared for what would come, and the fearful teachers stuck to such instructions.

On a breezy morning in February, Hermione sat with tired eyes, picking at the remains of a cold croissant. Spotting her, McGonagall crossed from the teacher's table and joined Hermione. It provoked a questioning glance from the girl.

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked gently, immediately thinking the worst, that something had happened to Ron or to Harry or to her parents.

"It's not bad news dear," the deputy headmistress replied, instantly recognising the fear in Hermione's eyes. "Instead I have a favour to ask of you."

"Anything," Hermione responded dutifully, please to have a responsibility separate from her timetable.

"Well, you see, the Ministry is working on a technique, or a potion - essentially, a project. It harnesses the power of the wand for the user, allowing a stronger spell. Attempts have been going on for months now, but the after the terror alert was risen it has triggered an increase in development. They are seeking as much help as possible, and we received a message asking if any young people would be fit and able to assist, to provide a different perspective. I hoped you'd be willing to?"

"I'd love too," beamed Hermione, pleased to escape her current situation. She'd no longer have to endure all the fitness training and other preparation activities she disliked, and would be able to focus on things she felt mattered more, like the intelligence behind the war effort. Work that could help them win the war and with minimum casualities.

"Oh good," said McGonagall as she clasped her hands. "Another detail though is your partner."

"Am I not to work with you?"

"No no dear," she corrected, "you'll be with Mr Malfoy." Hermione was speechless. Any other student would be preferable, yet her luck landed her with the most detestable boy in the year.

"They're getting the greatest minds in the county to work on this project. You're the brightest witch of your age, they want young people and you're our best hope."

"But why Malfoy?"

"You may not like to admit it, but he is also very bright, succeeding only behind you in his classes. His background also allows another perspective, which we welcome, as does your background."

"But..."

"Miss Granger, we are in a time of severe need. He's confirmed he'll work with you - now I await your decision. I'm relying on it." Hermione paused for a few moments, considering her options, but concluded her prejudices and past experiences of Malfoy should not be allowed to affect her decision now. She wanted to help in this project, and determined that Malfoy will work with her on it.


	4. First Conversation

Hermione spent her day researching in the library, ready to meet with Draco that evening. The proposed idea left her with countless possibilities, and she walked to her table, arms laden with books. These ranged from those familiar, like ' _Extreme Incantations_ ' or ' _Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charms_ ', then many other new texts like ' _Power and Purpose_ '. The dust covered hardbacks crowded the desk, yet she continued to find more she thought of use. Whilst searching, she stacked some on the floor at the end of an aisle, intending to quickly find another book she believed to be a few rows down. Whilst scouring the bookshelves for that book she heard a crash, and found the sound to come from where she had left the pile. However she returned merely to find the books strewn across the floor, and no culprit in sight. She quickly dismissed the mystery and continued with her research.

After many hours, she retired to the Great Hall for tea. The tables were decorated with a variety of options, centring around the theme of Chinese cuisine. This caused much excitement for the students and teachers alike. Hermione spotted Slughorn at the end of the staff table trying to eat a whole duck pancake in one bite, and smiled at the unique, elderly man. He, on the other hand, just looked grumpy that she had seen his attempt, and she felt she could hear his grunt despite their great distance apart.

After a plate of sweet and sour chicken with noodles (which was quite a struggle and resulted in a frustrating tomato stain on her collar) Hermione returned to the library to gather her findings to then show to Draco. With her parchment under arm, she began the journey to the Slytherin dungeons. It frustrated her that McGonagall had arranged them to situated there, but she had argued that it was notably the quietest house - or certainly the least nosy - which suited their relatively secret project. As she descended the sloping corridors and staircases the walls became greyer, lighting darker, torches more spaced. Hermione desired to cast "lumos" but felt conscious that her discomfort from the darkness would be mocked and that was something she would rather avoid. Having followed McGonagall's instructions Hermione found herself at the entrance to a small room. It resembled a common room but was designed to only hold a few people, presumably created with secretive Slytherin schemes in mind.

The door creaked awkwardly as she pushed it open yet Draco showed no recognition of it or her. She closed it behind her before turning to look at him. He was sat in an armchair watching the fire beside him like he was expecting the flames to talk to him.

"Well don't just stand there," he grumbled, still not looking away from the fire. Hermione stepped cautiously towards him and took a seat in the arm chair opposite. She noted how he blended in with the black and green surroundings, yet she only with the fire which mirrored her red and golden tie.

"I have some ideas for us to start on-"

"I have you to blame for this ankle," interrupted Draco, gesturing towards his foot.

"Sorry?" Hermione replied, surprised and confused by his words.

"You left a pile of books. It must've been you - no one else would get that many."

"You can't blame me if you walked-"

"You're a safety hazard, lucky I didn't report you for my injury suffered as a consequence of your actions."

"How.. Why jump to the assumption it was me?" questioned Hermione, though knowing she was guilty of his accusation.

"You lurk in the library, looking for your people there."

"I have no people."

"Ei, those of little importance, Mudbloods and Weasleys and Potter, vermin amongst the books."

"How dare you!" exclaimed Hermione, shocked by how rude he still was. "You should apologise, that's out of order. How you could be so cruel, so foul towards me - I want to _work_ with you on this Malfoy. Work together. No need to act with such an air of supremacy, it's false." He snorted and finally looked up from the fire. His change in position gave Hermione hope that he may've reconsidered his approach. Instead he gave a mocking response-

"I don't _slouch_. In my family we care about our appearance." Hermione figured he was referring to her comment about supremacy, and was ready to reply when he began a judgemental observation. He looked her up and down, picking out every feature and evaluating. His scrutiny unnerved and belittled her, causing her to stumble when she tried to talk. The power simply in his gaze scared her slightly.

"M- Malfoy, we need to work on this together, no bitter insults. I have some research I carried out earlier, and some ideas on how we could start."

"Show me." Rising from her chair, Hermione walked over to him and placed the parchments in his hand.

"Resume your seat." he muttered as he read over her work. Though it made her blush to be commanded so, she did not abide to his comment. Hermione was firm that he was not in charge - it was a partnership not a dictatorship.

"I-" Draco began before realising she was still stood next to him. He craned his neck to see her - she smiled and he grunted at her indifference towards the instruction. Draco thrust the paper to her. She thanked him and returned to her chair.

"How did you come up with that?" he asked. Hermione beamed as she recognised how he was impressed with what she found, and it pleased her to have beaten Draco already.

"Today with my research from books, then just figuring-"

"But where did you copy from?"

"From my head."

"That head I see sat on your shoulders?"

"Yes." she replied bluntly. His questions were unusual, and the confidence from her intelligent work began to slip. She was not a weak woman, but Hermione did struggle to feel powerful in this situation. Draco seemed to hold the room - possibly as the meeting was in the dungeons so he felt more comfortable here - yet in his posture he also asserted an undeniable authority.

Draco hated her - that she was certain - but he was listening, despite his claims of superiority. Truly listening to every word she said. His eyes had followed her constantly since she had returned to her seat. His stare was direct, piercing, yet his eyes lacked the harsh tone of some villains, reminding Hermione that he was just a boy, just as old as her, and probably just as scared about the war and the possible outcomes.

"Do you enjoy being such a book-worm?" Malfoy mocked. It was rather childish, but his smirk made it feel like an insult. Regardless, Hermione felt it best to reply with honesty.

"To learn is one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known."

"Well then your pleasures have been few." Hermione felt the many connotations radiating from his words and again her cheeks turned pink. She broke eye contact with him and looked down at her hands.

"It's nine o'clock."

"Yes." Draco replied. She returned his stare again, trying to judge his countenance.

"I ought to go. We start work tomorrow." stated Hermione, gathering her papers in an orderly fashion.

"Twelve hours time." Draco turned to face the fire again, and gave a dismissive hand gesture towards the door. Hermione was angered yet did not speak, feeling it best to to counteract his attitude on certain, more beneficial occasions. With a painful squeak and a crash, the door shut, leaving Draco alone in the room.


	5. Old then New

Frost flowers grew like lace on the dormitory window. Hermione rose from the warm bed and went to the glass, from which she could gaze out across the grounds. This morning observation was accompanied by the gentle sounds from the resting girls around her, and in the icy morning light Hermione distinguished Ginny's calm expression as she lay asleep. She looked around and felt within and without the group. They were her friends, the girls she grew up with, but they couldn't provide her what she needed. She felt familiar with them but not that particular happiness she found with Harry and Ron. She concluded that she just didn't really fit in.

With that thought, Hermione changed into her uniform and pattered down to the common room. It was isolated at this early hour - Gryffindors were not renowned as morning people. She crossed to the portrait then descended the staircases to the Great Hall. The desolate corridors brought her a peace many can relate to. It is a peace of silence and resting in a place normally bustling with activity. The quiet seemed... quieter. You could feel the dust floating in the air, whisps brushing past your cheek. Everything was still, the portraits sleeping, and no real noise to be heard. That was how Hogwarts felt early in the morning.

As Hermione approached the Great Hall the golden glow of candles and smells of cooked breakfast and fruit juice introduced her to the centre of school. There were a few students and a number of staff sat eating and reading the newspaper and, although a small number, it felt like a large amount of people when compared with the silent slumber of the rest of the school. To her delight she spotted Harry perched nearby, stirring a bowl of cereal contemplatively.

"Harry!" she called. He lifted his head and instantly every feature seemed to transition to one of joy.

"Hi!" he grinned, joining her in a hug. The pair separated and shared an understanding look before lowering to sit beside each other.

"What are you doing here so early?" Hermione asked as she buttered her toast.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied, and Hermione interpreted this to indicate a regular occurrence.

"Have you tried sleeping draught? I'm sure I'll have some in my room somewhere."

"No don't worry. I don't want to start - I just want to try and manage by myself for now. Don't want to grow dependent." Hermione nodded, understanding his wishes though still continued-

"If you want any, don't hesitate to ask."

"Of course," Harry replied with a small smile. "So, what have you got today?"

"Oh I've changed timetable. McGonagall's asked me to work on this project in conjunction with the Ministry." Harry looked up at her, surprised.

"What kind of project?"

"Oh, well," Hermione began, then whispering she said, "It involves trying to increase the power of spells cast. They hope to develop it before the war, believe it could be a huge help."

"Unless the death eaters get it."

"Well. Yes. That's why it's so secretive at the moment though. But you raise a fair point. I haven't a clue how they'll prevent it from getting to Voldemort. Maybe develop it so it has to be put into the wand manually? Then it can only go on wands of people known to be on our side."

"Hm, yeah, that'd work." Harry responded, scraping the last few spoonfuls of milk from his bowl.

"There's just one problem." Hermione mentioned.

"Uh huh?"

"I have to work with Malfoy on it."

"Malfoy! You've got to be kidding me. Who came up with that?"

"McGonagall. I did question it but she reasoned he was a suitable candidate."

"Suitable; he'll probably take the secret development to the death eaters, no doubt."

"Harry, he may be associated but I don't think he's one of them. And honestly I don't think he's got the courage to tell them something like that."

"I think he is one of them."

"Harry no. I'm sure of it. You're just biased because of the persona he creates, the way he talks about the dark arts. But, importantly, he doesn't act like one of those inconsiderate murders, those sadistic psychopaths; Harry, he's far more like us than them." Harry paused for a moment to consider her argument.

"I still think he is." Both thought for a moment, then rested together, deciding to just enjoy each other's company instead of bickering over Draco. It was a comfortable silence containing all the emotions they could express about how they currently felt, and both remained still, thinking.

* * *

 

Reluctantly wishing 'Goodbye', each went in seperate directions. Harry walked to an empty classroom to practice occulemency with Snape, who had agreed to continue the lessons (following events at the end of last year,) ensuring Harry's temper remained calm. On the other hand, Hermione went to a room McGonagall had designated for the project. It was the Muggle Studies classroom, not currently needed as those lessons had ceased in the new timetable. It no longer resembled that room though. The heavy curtains were removed allowing the room to fill with natural light. Oak floors and stone walls remained but there were blackboards and chalks lining them. Tables stretched across the expanse of the room, two long desks with space around. There were cupboards full of ingredients, cauldrons, and enticing, empty bookshelves.

Naturally Hermione's first task was to transfer the books loaned from the Library to this new lab room. She spent the next hour carrying heavy loads of textbooks with a surprising amount of success, even when the corridors began to get more busy as 8am grew nearer. Once the room was organised she transfigured two armchairs from some wooden seats at the side of the room and ensured they had colouring suitable for both her and Draco. With a sigh, she collapsed into her burgundy cushions and closed her eyes.

Draco stood by the door. He coughed to alert her to his presence but she did not move from the armchair. "Maybe she has adopted my tactic," he contemplated with a smirk. However upon further entering the room he realised she was, instead, asleep. Draco was unsure what to do. Should he wake her? No, that'd seem foolish. Instead he opted to sit in the emerald seat opposite and wait for her to stir. In the meantime he read through her notes and compared them to his own. Some ideas stood out more than others and he began to correlate the two onto one piece of parchment, noting any resources he thought necessary to obtain. By noon he had completed the task and smiled at his work, pleased with the progress. It was then that he realised Hermione was awake, and for how long he was unsure. She too was smiling and it surprised him for her to look so pleasant. The signature Granger-scowl was gone, replaced with a caring expression he was unfamiliar with, seeing as she normally glared with resentment at him.

Hermione was viewing her colleague differently too. His elegant build and the sophistication of his black clothing. She felt foolish for still wearing uniform, as now they wear seperate from class it would obviously of been accepted for her to wear her own clothes. Draco certainly wore his, and he wore it well. She did not just inspect his appearance - she also looked at his character. Deep in concentration as he wrote, she found the sight mesmerising, and felt there was a reflection of herself in him. When he had looked up she did not shy away - instead she looked further, for still his guard was down and this honest portrayal was captivating.

Draco began to question her gaze.

"You examine me Granger: do you think me handsome?"

Quickly trying to recollect her thoughts, Hermione responded with a hint of guilt "No."

"Your eyes are directed piercingly to my face; it makes me wonder whether you simply replied in a manner you view as expected rather than admit the truth." Draco gloated in this victory over her.

"Should I denote the same thing from your stares?"

Draco paused then simply said "No." Her point was true - particularly when he had admired her kind demeanour - and he was fearful she now noticed. With that thought, he handed her the notes in an attempt to change the conversation. Hermione sat carefully reading them as he explored the equipment.

"This potion - let's start with this."

Draco glanced over the possible ingredients choices. Both began to gather the necessities and start preparation. In order to avoid an awkward silence Hermione started to talk.

"Have many left Slytherin?" Although initially reluctant to converse, Draco decided that he would try to cooperate with her, however unbearable that may seem.

"Few. I'm sure the 'brave' Gryffindors have resorted to an ironic cowardic."

"I wouldn't label leaving the school as cowardice. It may be a wise measure, and if I reasonably had the option I may take it."

"Why don't you go home to your muggles?"

"My parents are safe. I think going home would jeopardise that. Besides, I want to help - being at home I would be useless, I'd have nothing to do."

"You're useless here too," Draco muttered, grinning to himself, though he knew it to be a lie. Hermione glanced to him and was about to scold when she realised how happy he looked. She enjoyed seeing him smile - well, preferred it to his usual smirk.

"Why don't you leave, Malfoy?" she asked. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not about to open up to you."

"I told you my situation."

"I know."

"Social convention suggests you would then reciprocate."

"Only a suggestion, not a law." he added, though his focus was on a sopophorus bean that was proving difficult to cut.

"Let me try." Hermione put out her hand for Draco to pass the bean but he ignored her, forcing her to cross over to the desk next to him so she could reach another to try. For a while both stabbed and sliced at the bean with little avail, occasional mumbles of frustration arising.

"Ah!" Draco cried as the bean split open and the juice spilled out.

"No - How?" Hermione exclaimed. Draco should his head, revelling in the knowledge that he had achieved it first.

"Please," she begged but he just laughed and continued with other ingredients.

"Oh you are - infuriating," she grumbled, receiving another chuckle from Draco.


	6. Bubbling

Draco and Hermione worked efficiently together, strengths balancing weaknesses, and the clarity in McGonagall's choice was clear. Although arguments were initially frequent, insults of "Mudblood" and "Ferret" common, within two weeks this had reduced significantly, and eventually they were on a first name basis. The duo appreciated each others abilities and, in their dedication, placed prejudices behind them in their hope to create a potion within the project. However they experienced little success and soon this matrimony began to crumble.

"What are you doing!" shouted Draco, crashing towards Hermione to knock her hand from adding the butterfly wings.

"Adding something to the potion - and you've ruined it, you idiot." Both were seething, having reached the end of their tether, bombs now ignited.

"Idiot! I'm not the one placing diced butterfly wings in the cauldron."

"It'll reduce the viscosity - that's what we need for the next stage-" Hermione stated.

"That's exactly what went wrong last time! It doesn't work."

"No - You kept it boiling for too long."

"Sorry? You're blaming your mistake... On me?" Draco's sarcasm concentrated on her, provoking a fiery response.

"I'm not making a mistake; you are."

"When do I ever make mistakes," he smirked. At this she grew infuriated.

"You are too stubborn to see it Draco!" He crossed his arms defiantly so she took a resistant step towards him before speaking in a slow, clear tone.

"You are stubborn, I have seen it often. You'll never admit you're wrong; why can't you realise - these preconceived ideas, past schemas on how to act, what to do and here how to handle a situation – they're not good! They don't work when conversing with someone, they won't lead to compromise or understanding, they just lead to blame and anger." In this moment she felt pushed to say something else, something she wished to say to him. It did not concern the work, but she couldn't stop herself from elaborating. "Stuck in your views, you don't open your eyes to the truth. You don't hear me. You watch but you don't see; listen but do not hear. I do not speak as mortal flesh - I talk to you, Draco, my soul addressing your soul - equal, as we are." It was something she had wished to tell him for a long time. An emotional speech asking for him to show compassion, be humble, and to actually listen to her rather than only hearing what he wants to hear. A moment passed, and when he answered all thought briefly washed out of her.

"As we are. And I must say, as you are, stood here, your passion - though a Mudblood - becomes you." In the following pause Hermione became a statue of disbelief due to his dismissal of what she had spoke. She was upset by his condescending tone and she felt a needle of defeat prick her, if just for a moment.

"You seem disposed to be gregarious and communicative," he commented with continuing sarcasm.

"You are stubborn-"

"-and you annoyed. Ah! It is consistent."

"Stubborn in-"

Draco interrupted again, speaking pathetically to mock her. "Hermione, I am so sorry, my apology flows like-"

"- No! No you're not. For neither the blame nor the insult nor the derogatory term you repeated here. You don't regret your claims of superiority, of always being right. I'm your partner, not some paid subordinate, and so we must work as equals. Give me a chance, actually listen to what I say and give- me- a- chance."

"Of course I'm not sorry." Draco folded him arms and leant against the counter. He was smirking but she could see the frustration behind his expression.

"I can't stand this. Won't you be frank with me? Evasion just exemplifies your inability to truly respond. You know there is truth to what I say - and that the butterfly wings may not be the root of the problem - but you don't even consider the possibility. You never do."

"Who are you to judge my character? We have worked together mere weeks and you claim to of sussed me out."

"I have known you far longer."

"We shared classes. You know no more than I showed."

"Draco, I am not unfamiliar with hiding emotions. And so I am accustomed to reading them in a reluctant face too. You hide yours well but, trust me, they peek through." The pair stared each other, both now lost in the argument, confused as to what they were now truly talking about. It seemed to of progressed on from competing over who was correct to a discussion of acceptance and prejudice.

Whilst both were angry, there was a calmness in the room that mellowed this. A chill passed and although it could be a gust of wind that often permeated the old windows, Draco and Hermione felt it like a natural force telling them to calm, telling them to stop, telling them to listen. In a world of magic, the small features of nature could help ground a witch or wizard as it did now. Hermione recognized the feeling well from when she would return to her parents in the summer to a muggle life that may be mundane but was always refreshing.

"You're no different to what I thought; the few good points of you are counterbalanced by intolerable defects." Hermione saw that the breeze had calmed her and simply blown Draco further within his persona.

"May that statement apply to yourself?" she asked gently, not wishing to offend but instead for him to see they were not as different as he thought, that they each had positive and negative qualities. She disliked the tactic as it meant she did not defend herself, but surprisingly it worked in bringing out some truth from Draco, despite him veiling it by directing it at her again.

"You are right; I have plenty of faults of my own. In admitting that though I do not wish to palliate yours."

"What flaw do I possess, Draco, that causes such an offence?"

He stumbled (duely noted by Hermione) before replying, "That which you accuse me of."

"Stubbornness?"

"That exactly." He felt firm now having stated the accusation.

"I do not agree. Ei, I may be steadfast and tenacious, but that is not flaw when I use it in the right context. When I am right I will insist upon it so as to help others. There is no fault in helping classmates, no fault in ensuring people are led down the correct path."

"So you believe you are trying to divert my path. Well, I am certain my path is the correct way – what then, Hermione?"

"I fear… I fear you were thrust on the wrong tack at the age of three and so have struggled to recover the right course since."

He lunged forwards – "DO NOT" – he pointed his finger towards her – "ASSUME" - he closed the space between them and whispered – "to know." He then spoke with an acidulous voice, spitting the words above her whilst stood face to face, so close he could feel her shallow breaths on his cheeks. "I have a past existence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within my own chest. Tis not your business to discuss. It may warrant sneers and censures amongst your house, but I forbid it from you." She watched him carefully and although intimidated by his body language, she felt irresistible compassion for him. He continued-

"You are almost stainless; all but your blood is pure. Your memory holds no blot or contamination from your home, your parents providing you an unpolluted past. What an exquisite treasure."

"I-"

"So do NOT think you can tell me about my mother and father. I should tell them of your words, then you would understand what stubbornness truly is."

Hermione blinked. Cautiously, she raised a hand to his cheek to comfort him. Once Draco had registered his shock from her action he swiftly hit her arm down and stepped away, colliding heavily with the table causing a loud jolt to resound.

"Draco," she softly asked, still reaching towards him. His expression was no longer controlled and manufactured. She could see the emotions: anger, confusion, pain, fleeting determination. He whipped his wand from his pocket and pointed it towards her. Her hands quickly dropped but she did not reach for her wand. She simply looked at him. He twitched, his hand shook, small movements he hoped she would not notice. Draco had been ready to fight, but he couldn't bring himself to hurt her when she stood there so helplessly. She could attack him, she could retaliate to what he said but instead she tries to HELP him. He's disgusted by how much he yearns for that comfort, so he steps away. Hermione went to speak again but he turned and stormed from the room, knowing if she kept talking he would soon give in to her care and empathy. Each step struck the ground, continuing until they were only small patters far along the corridor that Hermione could no longer hear.


	7. Honest-tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to The Beatles, as I mention of two of their songs.

On the following day they individually made the potion, one with butterfly wings and one without. Neither worked. With assistance from McGonagall a new plan was established, and under her gaze they restarted their efforts after lunch in a new direction. In the late afternoon she left them, and a tense silence held. Both had pretended the argument hadn't occurred but now she had left they were free to speak openly. Hermione awaited a pretentious comment hiding his true thoughts but that was not how Draco decided to approach the situation. A long night of thought had brought him to the conclusion that he wanted to speak with her. There was a trust in their fragile relationship that he held to as the Wizarding World became more turbulent around them. Each morning he would read of more atrocities in the Daily Prophet and it was a welcome relief to then spend the day in such contrasting surroundings with her.

"I don't know why I read the news." he muttered.

"Sorry?"

"The Prophet. Everyday I read it and it puts me off my breakfast." Draco glanced up at Hermione and found her deep in thought, licking her bottom lip – a habit she displays when thinking about something.

"How can we not," she shrugged honestly, "We have to. Else we'd spend the day in fear that something has happened that we are unaware of." He nods at this. "I… I saw about your father. Those muggles…" Draco's sharp gaze at her caused her to stop, remembering what he'd said yesterday and not wanting to argue again.

"I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that."

"I think I know that at least. Just that… your motives, I worry, this project."

"McGonagall trusts me. You trust her. Can't you accept that?"

"I guess," Hermione pondered, dissatisfied but agreeing with his point. The soundtrack of their working returned to silence so Hermione moved to start some music on the stereo she had brought from home.

"You mind?" she asked with consideration. She interpreted his grunt to mean yes and started playing "The White Album", skipping to her favourite track. She walked back to her desk whilst murmuring along to the plucking guitar.

"Take these broken wings and learn to fly…"

"What is this?" Draco questioned, forcing Hermione from her melancholy singing.

"The Beatles." She smiled but it was clearly not joy she felt, and nostalgia weighed heavily in small wrinkles on her face.

"Muggle?"

"Yes," she whispered, eyes glistening. She was looking at him but he could tell she was really focusing on the music. Her tongue peaked out again and moved across her lip. She was no longer singing, but Draco still listened to the lyrics. They spoke of a bird, a blackbird. 'Blackbird fly, into the light of the dark black night.' He didn't want to admit it, but this muggle music was captivating and far preferential to any songs by the Weird Sisters.

Draco turned back to his potion and soon the song ended. It was proceeded by a (he felt) tacky tune and then a voice singing 'Have you seen the little piggies.'

"You were doing so well Granger – but what the hell is this?" he laughed. She grinned.

"A classic, Draco, truly."

"You like this garbage?"

"Hey! Don't insult the poor gentlemen. This track has more to it than you may think."

"A song with pigs grunting in the background – you can't truly like it?" he returned playfully.

"I admit it is not elegant, but I like the message it provides. One critical of the greed and materliasm in society. A message I'm sure you-know-who would benefit from too."

"Good message. Bad medium to send it through."

"Not to your taste," she corrected, "But definitely to some. My Aunt loves this song. I remember listening to it as we tidied away toys together when I was round her house."

"A nice house?" Draco asked.

"I see someone is in need of advice against materialism." She smirked. He sent her a matter-of-fact expression. "I must admit though, it was a lovely place – a villa actually. I visited her in Italy with my parents when I was 6. We travelled to Rome, saw the colosseum and went to a picturesque little restaurant on the outskirts of the city. It was gorgeous." Draco left the room to get some ingredients from the Potions cupboard, and Hermione diligently continued her work. He returned with a crate of vials levitating beside him, explaining that staff had agreed today it'd make more sense for them to store the contents of the cupboard in their room, or 'lab' as Hermione had named it. Reluctantly Hermione stopped The Beatles and helped him, spending the hour afore tea transferring the items.

* * *

 

"You'll stay this evening, Draco?" Hermione assumed her friends would not be in the dormitory, and she wished to spend time with someone that evening, not alone reading books again.

"If I can tolerate even longer in your company." She nudged him and he smiled, a small image of happiness before returning to the vacant expression he wore most of the time. They turned the corner and separated, still abiding to house laws in their seating arrangements. It was a busy room, especially as they had arrived at prime time for the meal, and the hall was filled with chatter. Hermione meandered past collections of first and second years, hoping to spot Lavender or Ginny like usual. To her surprise Harry, Ron, Neville and Seamus were ALL gathered at the rear end of the bench, and a cheer erupted when they saw her. She later discovered their jubilant actions were due to the goblets they held containing makeshift cocktails disguised as orange juice. Though, of course, seeing her may've added to their spirits.

"How did you find the time to make those?" she asked with a grin.

"If there's one thing the Irish know, it's how to have a good time!" yelled Seamus, raising his glass. The boys toasted to that, and Hermione laughed buoyantly, glad to be returned to their foolish happiness. She took a sip of the goblet they'd provided her and winced as she swallowed. Ron laughed and Neville reassured her it tastes better the more she drinks. She mumbled a thank you before taking another gulp, hating but enjoying the burning feeling of the alcohol.

"You getting on alright with the slimy git?" Ron joked. "Harry told me of your misfortune."

"He's not so bad, really. I quite like being with him now actually." The contents of Harry's mouth sprayed out in front of him, a reaction mirrored in the other three.

"What?" Harry shouted, followed by Neville-

"Are you sure that's not the drink talking? You must be mad."

"No, really," she reassured them, "when he's not being a prat, he makes for fine company."

"Fine company indeed." Seamus snorted, and Hermione scolded him with a stern look.

"Mione, you hate the guy. You bloody punched him!" Ron stated.

"Yes, and rightfully so. But now... I'm getting to know him. He's alright, you know." Neville raised an eyebrow then replied-

"You're sure this is Draco you're talking about?"

"Neville, I'm telling you - telling you all - he's changed. He's here at school and is helping our side; isn't that proof of his beliefs compared with his family."

"I hate to break it to you, but a lifetime as a Malfoy will not change in a matter of weeks," said Harry frowning.

"I'm giving him a chance Harry, and he's turned out to be a good guy really." Nobody replied to her, until Seamus muttered "you must be mad love" before downing the rest of his drink and topping up everyone's glasses. She sighed but smiled at the boys, knowing they were only trying to protect her and really loving them for it.

"I miss seeing you Mione," Ron pondered, and she nodded tearfully. Just him saying that could make her emotional.

"You too," she whispered then leaning to Harry said "and you." The trio shared a moment then ate the remainder of their chocolate pudding discussing the boys' latest lessons, news reports and the possibility of a secret night-time quidditch match.

Hermione longed to remain with them but they were required in assistance with younger years now. Although she could've joined them, she had told Draco she'd like to be with him this evening and knew it would be rude to not turn up now. Besides, her potion needing tending for a few more hours before she was planning to relax anyway.

Nine o'clock arrived and Hermione found herself slouched in her armchair opposite Draco who was sat in his and swaying his feet slowly as they rested on the coffee table beside the fire.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked. When he nodded she proceeded to transfigure a cauldron into a kettle and fill it up with water before placing it on the fire.

"Why not just 'magic up' a cup of tea?" He asked. Hermione shrugged-

"It reminds me of home. Except we have an electric kettle at home - so doing it on the fire reminds me of Hagrid I guess."

"Accio tea bags." Two popped into his hand. "Perfect," he smiled, proud of such a trivial accomplishment.

Hermione held an empty glass bottle before her, watching as it then turned into a mug following her incantation.

Thirty minutes of constant conversation later, Hermione and Draco placed down two cold, tea stained mugs and smiled at each other. She suspected the friendly atmosphere resulted from spiking the tea with some liqueur Seamus had given her, and she did not regret the decision to do so. Draco had noticed the alcoholic taste of the beverage - more alcohol than tea really - but hadn't complained; it was a welcome drink.

"Later that day I found her making out with Blaise."

"Noooo," Hermione cried, engaged in Draco's tipsy recollections.

"I saw then who she was – truly - and determined I would never marry her, even if father had arranged every speck of our engagement, I would never."

"What did you do?"

"Do?"

"To Blaise!"

"Oh - well, I cursed him." Hermione inhaled deeply.

"Only lightly," Draco reassured, hiding the detail that Blaise was in the hospital ward following the incident.

"Violence is not the answer Draco." she smirked.

"Says she - the girl who punched ME in the face."

"You deserved it." Draco laughed at that.

"I couldn't believe you did that - never thought you capable I guess."

"I believe that is called exercising self control," she explained happily, resting her arm over the edge of her chair. She hummed the tune from earlier to herself.

"I like winter." Draco revealed, speaking his thoughts freely.

"Winter? I'd say I enjoy hiding away from winter and huddling next to a roaring fire."

"No, it's not the temperature I like - it's the sternness and stillness of the world under frost. In that condition the coating seems impermeable."

"It'll melt though... Which defeats your points on solidarity and constancy."

"So coherent when tipsy, Hermione, how fitting. I mean to say I like it... When it's there. I like solidarity. The manor: it's antiquity, grey and forlorn, and lines of black windows; it's the only thing I like about the place. I like that stillness."

"It is cold though?"

"It is cold."

"I couldn't bear that," mused Hermione, "warmth is strongly what I consider home." Both parties were eager to move away from the painful topic of home, so Draco questioned Hermione.

"Have you returned to Italy, since your were six?"

"We haven't gone back, but I've seen my Aunt when she visited us. And I've been abroad to other countries." She could tell Draco was waiting to hear of those trips so continued.

"Before Italy I travelled to France a lot as my Father's sister lived there, and we would stay in their house beside the sea, venturing out with my cousins to build sand castles and play in rock pools. At noon we'd eat fresh French bread bought from the Bakery that morning, and in the evenings the adults would sip wine whilst we slept in little wooden beds with white sheets and walls of cream with decals of shells and seagulls. Oh, it was lovely." Draco encouraged her on.

"Um, since Italy, we went away a little. To America when I was eight and then to Berlin for my tenth birthday."

"I've always wanted to go to Berlin."

"You should. You'd fit right in. The architecture is stunning too - robust and classical, having withstood many years of conflict. It's so terrible that many parts of the city were damaged in the Second World War; so many beautiful places destroyed."

"I can imagine."

"Why haven't you been? I'd thought it'd be at the top of your list!"

"I don't have a list."

"It's a saying Draco. So, where have you been then?"

"I know it's a saying - I mean to say I don't have a list, I haven't been anywhere." Hermione frowned.

"You're not just being modest?" Draco shook his head.

"Family excursions... Not a feature of my childhood. Spent most of it at the Manor, or staying at other grand houses with my parents visiting their 'friends'."

"It sounds constraining." Draco huffed with amusement at this.

"Constraint is certainly something I am familiar with. Whilst restraint be something you do not always possess."

"When have I displayed little restraint?" asked Hermione incredulously. Draco rubbed his nose and she tilted her head, thinking back to the punch and reluctant to admit that that was a rather impulsive action.

"Constraint, however, is different. Growing up trapped in an aristocratic bubble." he pondered.

"Where does this honesty come from?" Hermione asked, poking him with her foot.

"Probably from whatever you put in that tea," replied Draco wistfully, inspecting his empty mug.

"Normally you do almost fear smiling too gaily, speaking too freely or moving too quickly." Draco pulled a face at this observation. "This is nice though. I mean, us talking, normally, like friends."

"Does it make us friends?" he asked slowly. Hermione observed his smug smirk and, after a moment of thought, replied-

"Yes. Yes, I believe it does."


	8. Cold

Hermione woke up late that morning. A fitting start to the day, it seemed, for as soon as she walked into the Great Hall she sensed something was wrong. It was very busy, but there was no laughter - everyone was serious, some crying and some simply seeming away from themselves. She sat opposite Pavarti but there was no happy greeting.  
"What's going on?" she asked. The girl passed her the newspaper then stared down at the wood of the table, unable to meet Hermione's eye. The image Hermione was greeted with woke her out of her morning slumber.  
"How could this of happened?" she gasped, and Pavarti stuttered, unable to answer the rhetorical question.

'Muggleborn Massacre' stood in bold font at the top of the page. Beneath was an image of smoke smouldering from rubble, captioned 'Above: Remains of fire still being extinguished in early hours of the morning.' Beside it began the body of text. 'Authorities have warned caution towards all Muggleborns following an attack in the town of Lacksneed, village of Kettleston, village of Pilau and town of Gemberhan yesterday evening. It is confirmed that Death Eaters cast a powerful Fiendfire curse on the houses of known Muggleborns and their families, with 267 confirmed dead and 734 injured. The muggle parents of the victims were also murdered. The Minister of Magic is working with the Muggle Prime Minister to arrange a safety plan protecting muggles following the event.' Hermione couldn't read anymore. Tears had started to trickle down her cheeks, and she rose from the table to excuse herself. When she reached the corridor she heard her name called, and turned to find McGonagall following her.  
"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry," she said, reaching for Hermione and holding her shoulders.  
"So many dead. Innocent people, burned alive in their beds," said Hermione softly.  
"I am worried for Muggleborns at this school. Hogwarts is a safe place for them, but I fear those who have returned home are at great risk."  
"And my family," Hermione stated tearfully.  
"Yes. That is the matter I wish to speak with you about. Please, come with me to my office." Hermione followed, grateful for the time to compose herself. They sat at the desk she knew well from Harry's visits to Dumbledore, and she held it firmly, holding herself strong with the knowledge of the the conversation they were about to have.

"I will be blunt with you Hermione because evading the truth will only lead to more hurt. You and I know your parents are in danger, especially considering your position in the War and relation to Harry."  
"They are so unaware of the Wizarding World. I do not wish to destroy their livelihood."  
"I have an idea that will allow them to continue living in peace, but..." McGonagall struggled to explain her plan. It weighed heavily on her, having to cause so much pain to her beloved student.  
"What is it Professor?"  
"You are aware of the memory charm? If cast on your parents, it would protect them from interrogation and help ease their worry for you. We can also move them away, to Australia possibly, so they are far from Voldemort's reach."  
"They do like travelling." Hermione joked. There was no humour though - it was an attempt to trivialise the situation, to escape the reality they were discussing.  
"Hermione?"  
"Yes." She whispered immediately. "Though I will perform it."  
"Of course," McGonagall replied sympathetically.  
"When?"  
"As soon as possible."  
"I shall go this evening, and return by the next."  
"I'll have a member of the Order escort you." Hermione nodded.  
"May I leave please?" she whispered. McGonagall raised her hand to allow her that, and Hermione all but ran from the room. She flitted down the staircases and across the site, but instead of heading for her room in the Gryffindor tower she headed to the lab. However, upon arriving at the door, she remembered she would be in Draco's company. She had grown fond of him but was in no way prepared to break down in front of him. Besides, she was certain he would not like that either. Requiring somewhere to calm down, she headed to the library. Deep within, past corners and bookcases, straight to her favourite armchair.

It was just as she'd left it, but the weather was lighter today - although drizzling, a gentle sunlight glowed in past the droplets, aiding greatly to calm Hermione. Bending down to remove her shoes, she noticed a hardback books under the chair. 'Bewick's History of Birds'. However it was not a history of birds this conjured. It was memories of home.

It was there she travelled at dusk, side-apparating with Arthur. Although it made her nauseous, she had not managed to eat since breakfast, so the spell seemed the best way to get to London. Alike her armchair in the library, the street always seemed the same and felt like her own space. Somewhere no one really knew about. She could spot her parents' cars in the drive, one a silvery shade of blue and the other a deep black. They were the types of cars you'd expect dentists to own.  
"Would you like to speak to them first?" he asked gently. Hermione nodded, and he reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly. They walked closer to the house.  
"Could you wait just here?" she asked as they stepped onto the drive. He obediently offered to do so, not allowing his desire to see the Muggle house alter his decisions. He cared greatly about Hermione, and at this moment he focused solely on how best to do this.

The doorbell rang, and all Hermione could think was how this could be the last time she would stand on the doorstep or step into the house. A man with mute ginger hair answered and immediately greeted her with a hug.  
"Hermione!"  
"Hi Dad," she stuttered, emotion making the words stumble. She heard a cry from the living room before her mother ran round the corner and joined the embrace.  
"Why aren't you at school?" she inquired, stepping out of the hug and reaching to hold her daughter's cheek.  
"On a break."  
"You're upset," her father observed with concern.  
"I'm just happy to see you," she lied again, hating that this final conversation was not honest. Simply, she couldn't bare to tell them what she would soon do. Her parents too had tears in their eyes upon seeing her, so her excuse was understood, and it was slightly true - she was emotional upon seeing them... Just that wasn't the real cause of the tears.  
"Come, come, would you like some tea?" asked her father.  
"That'd be lovely." she smiled, walking into the living room and sitting on the sofa. Hermione looked around her and saw all the framed photos of the family at different times. Soft furnishings of beige and light blue were a contrast to her Gryffindor common room, but they created a peaceful atmosphere. The TV had been abandoned when she'd arrived but it was still playing the news just on a low volume. On the screen was the headline '267 dead after residential attack'. She looked away.  
"How's the term been going?" her mother asked from beside her on the sofa.  
"Oh, as usual, lots of work." Hermione muttered.  
"No problems?"  
"It's been fine. How's everything at home?"  
"Well, your dad had a nasty chest infection for a few months but that's cleared up now."  
"Coughed on a few patients, so had to resort to near constantly wearing my face mask." he yelled from the kitchen, making Hermione smile.  
"Edward got a promotion," her mother continued, "and Susie was fired - as you know." Hermione nodded; her mother had mentioned of her cousin's problem in the last letter they sent.  
"Where's Ed now?" she asked.  
"Oh, some management position in London - we're all very chuffed though." Hermione nodded thoughtfully.  
"I'll just go help your father with the tea," she stated, before moving to the kitchen. At this Hermione glanced at the window and saw Arthur stood nervously. He raised his eyebrows, and Hermione knew he was suggesting she ought to act sooner rather than later, so as not to worry McGonagall by her absence. Even in the last moments with her parents she sacrificed the luxury of extra time - something she later regretted, though at the time was the result of an altruistic attempt to ensure those at school were not worried.

Hermione stepped round the corner and was faced with the backs of her parents.  
"Obliviate," she whispered. Pale light streamed from her wand and flowed around the room. Letters on the fridge became blank, and gaps emerged in pictures on the windowsill; gaps where she used to be. The house became devoid of all trace of Hermione, and she turned and ran out the front door, finding the changes unbearable. She didn't want to see the expression on her parents faces when they saw her as a stranger. Arthur stood outside and looked at her with a sad, disjointed stare before striding forward heavily and hugging her tightly. She whimpered but soon pulled away, rubbing her eyes and hurrying from the patio.  
"Hermione-" Arthur called, but he found her now watching distractedly through a window on the side of the house.  
Inside her mother and father each held a mug yet seemed confused. Her father picked up the extra mug of tea on the side that he'd prepared, poured the contents down the sink, placed it into the dishwasher then walked to the living room. Hermione yelped and hurried to Arthur.  
"Please let's go." In a hurricane of magic they apparated and arrived again in McGonagall's office. Before she could hear what they had to say, Hermione ran into the corridor and as far from them as she could. Knowing her roommates would be asleep and the library cold and locked, she ran to the lab, confident she would be alone. Once inside she stumbled to the table and held onto to it. However she was shaking so heavily the vials on it began to rattle and her legs crumbled beneath her. Two arms awkwardly propped her from falling to the floor, and she looked down to see pale hands holding her up. Pained sobs began to fill the room.

With slight struggle, Draco held Hermione and walked her to her chair by the fireplace. Her body folded inwards on the cushions but her hand stayed out, holding to his with indomitable force.  
"Are you alright?" Draco internally scolded himself for such a stupid question; of course she wasn't. It took a few minutes of crying for her to subdue enough she could manage to talk.  
"My parents," spoke Hermione carefully. Due to the laconic explanation Draco found himself thinking up so many possibilities of what had happened, and began to fear for the worst.  
"Not dead, are they?"  
"No," Hermione stuttered, finally unraveling herself to look to him. Draco was knelt on the floor in front of her, holding her hand whilst the other was placed gently on her knee.  
"They're... Gone, though." She spoke softly, focusing on the feeling of his thumb rubbing circles soothingly on her hand.  
"How are they gone?"  
"They're gone because I, I-"  
"You?"  
"I... I wiped their memories," she cried, "I went to see them, and when their backs were turned I cast the spell. I'm gone Draco, lost from them."  
"Oh." he whispered. His mouth remained in a small O shape as he pondered what to do. Suddenly Hermione pulled herself down to the floor with him and held onto him, hugging him as she cried once more. Although Draco was uncomfortable from the girl slumped across his lap and making the back of his shirt wet, he found himself oddly comforted by having her so dependent on him, and he in being able to help her.  
"Why did you do it?" he asked softly.  
"To protect them - following the murders in the paper," she replied, and Draco gave an understanding hum. "McGonagall thought it wise to obliviate them, protecting them if people had tried to ask them about me; with Harry being so prominent with Voldemort, we were both concerned they'd use my parents to get to me and so to him."  
"She didn't force you into a decision?"  
"No. I had thought along those lines previously anyway. It just became more immediate." She had stopped crying now and leant back against the bottom of the armchair, though still sat on his knees, so she could see him as they spoke.

"I'm cold," Hermione began, "inside and out. I don't think I can bear this." She reached out a hand to hold his cheek as she spoke, her fingers resting in his hair, mimicking the motions of her mother. "They're gone. Just... gone. I feel so alone. I know they're out there, somewhere, just not with me. And I remember the time I spent with them, growing up and then each summer. I can think of those moments, but I just want more and more and more. More time to be with them, to do ordinary things with them. I want to go back to the past; just to feel warm once more."  
The pale face afront her held a notable expression in his eyes. It's like the grey was more than grey. Her hand lapsed down but he caught it with the other one. Holding them like a therapist, holding them like a friend; she didn't care. She just wanted to be with someone... With him, even.  
"How about I promise you will never be cold again." he whispered staring at her deeply. All the while he raised her hands to his lips, planting a gentle warm kiss. The action seemed to plant a seed that grew and blossomed around her, wrapping her in a love she hadn't realised was there.  
"That'd be nice," she replied timidly, pushing her hands over his shoulders and pulling him to her. She rested her head on his collar, watching down his back, feeling herself gradually grow warm in his hold. It was like being wrapped in a duvet in your room - serene, warm, comfortable... At peace.


End file.
